Molly Matters Most
by Support Checkered
Summary: Molly is going to finally confront Sherlock. She hopes. A short one shot that I imagine to happen somewhere after season 3, shameless Sherlolly fluff. Spoiler alerts (kinda) for anyone who hasn't finished season 3.


It was the first time Molly would see Sherlock alone since the "incident." Drug addict, she would forgive him. But Murderer?

He just up and shot a man out of cold blood.

Well it wasn't cold blood. And he wasn't a very nice man.

But he shot him!

Would she prefer the alternative? Sherlock convicted of treason?

Doesn't matter.

Nope.

Not changing her mind.

...

Oh fine, yes, she would forgive him for that too, but he still killed a man. She was allowed to be mad about that for a little while.

"For God's sake, Sherlock!" It was the only thing she could think to say.

"You might not think me clever, but I am certainly not stupid." She started, "John told me about the first time you two met, when you were sitting at that restaurant waiting for the serial killer cabbie, remember that?

"He asked you if you had a girlfriend, or boyfriend, and you thought he was hitting on you. At least you had the decency to turn him down, instead of pretending nothing was happening, though, I suppose nothing was actually happening, but you get my point.

"And with that woman, the woman, what's-her-name Miss Adler. John told me about that too, about how you knew she had feelings for you by the way her eyes dialated when she saw you or something along those lines.

"Yet you pretend that you don't notice my attempts, my invites for dinner or coffee, you knew why I put lipstick on, you knew why I changed my hair, but yet you pretended not to. Why? No-don't answer that, just tell me this, why can't you have the decency to turn me down? It would have saved me a lot of trouble. And don't give me that about how 'I matter.' I matter, oh sure, I matter. Only when it's convenient! Am I just someone you can use, is that all you need me for? Because I need to know. You should stop coming around here and ruining my relationships, you can't just decide to come back into my life, destroying my engagement and giving me a speech about how I mattered most, it's rude! If you care, care at all, at least let me be happy."

The front door slammed.

"Molly?" Sherlock called out from the front room.

"Oh God, one moment!" Molly gasped, she had been practicing what she was going to say to Sherlock in front of the mirror, not expecting him for another hour. She urgently touched up her hair, flattening her blouse of obvious wrinkles, and took one last deep breath. She looked at her reflection, giving herself an assuring nod. "You can do this, Molly."

"Sherlock, I hadn't expected you for-," she turned the corner and Sherlock's powerful eyes made her hesitate, "-another...hour." There was something there, something in his gaze, his stance, his being there, something entirely different.

He just stood there. Staring. Deducing. She hated it almost as much as she loved it.

"Sherlock," she forced herself, her well versed words caught in her throat. "I have something to say to you."

"I know," he said, his voice ever weakening her stance.

A million responses ran through her head, but she couldn't will herself to put breath to any of them.

"You can save yourself the trouble," he picked up a porcelain bird from the table, looking it over carefully before quickly putting it back, "I already know everything you are about to say."

"How could you possibly-"

"First," he started, "you correct the misguided opinion you think I have of you, claiming you are not stupid, which, let me clarify, I never thought you were."

Her mouth opened but he didn't let her speak.

"Second, yes, I do remember that night in the restaurant and her name is Miss Irene Adler, and no I was not blind to your attempts to show your interest in me, I was simply ignoring them for obvious reasons."

"Obvious!?" She couldn't believe him.

"And finally," he continued, "you wonder why I have not declined your intentions and instead I came back and ruined your engagement, which I must add, I had nothing to do with that. That was most certainly all your doing."

"That's not what I meant, I-I-" she stammered, her words faultering as Sherlock took three quick strides right up to her. He was too close, yet not close enough, her breathe became shallow.

"I know exactly what you mean," He lifted her chin with his gloved hand so he could better look down at her eyes, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"I do not pretend to be ignorant of the effect I have on you, nor am I unaware of the effects you have on me," he muttered, he was so close she could feel his breath on her face.

"I thought I could avoid this, as I saw neither party could benefit. You could clearly be much happier with someone else, as I could obviously never deserve you."

His words were not lost to Molly, as her eyes began to sting from the brimming of salty tears.

"Sherlock..."

"I was not lying to you before, you are one person who matters the m-"

Before he could finish she closed the gap between them, lips entwining in an adequately long and appropriately passionate kiss, as Sherlock would later attest to those who pressed. She melted on contact, her arms finding their way to the back of his neck, tangling with his hair. He didn't look it, or act like it, and most certainly no one could have guessed it, but Sherlock was a surprisingly good kisser.

Molly almost forgot to breath. But as soon as their lips parted and her lungs expanded with fresh oxygen, her wits came about her.

"Hold on a moment," she said, stopping Sherlock's attempt for more. "Just how in bloody hell did you figure all that out?"

He grinned slightly, which only succeeded in making her angry as she pushed herself out of their embrass.

"Seriously, how did you do it? Was it my hair or my eyebrows or the way I put on my shoes?"

He chuckled slightly, his grin widening. "No, Molly, none of those."

"Then what!? What could have possibly given all of that away."

"You might not think me clever, but I am certainly not stupid." He repeated.

She gaped as not a word came to mind.

His grinned broadened again, bringing an almost childish twinkle to his eye. "Molly, I overheard your entire conversation with yourself, I finally slammed the door to get your attention since clearly you weren't aware of my presence."

Molly felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. "Oh." She slumped down in the seat behind her, without pause Sherlock slide down next to her. Unconsciously she ran a finger over her lips, she had enjoyed it. That made him smile.

She turned to look at him, pursing her lips together in frustration. "I'm still upset about the drug incident."

"Fair enough."

"And shooting that man."

"Perfectly understandable."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Molly, I know."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"I feel exactly the same way."

With inexplicable timing, John Watson came bounding in without so much as a knock.

"Sherlock! Oh, sorry. Hi Molly, didn't expect to see you here," John said, a little winded from the run up the stairs.

"Why wouldn't you expect to see me? This is my flat after all," Molly exclaimed.

"Yes of course. Sherlock, we need you, there has been another murder." John exclaimed.

"Oh, good" Sherlock said, the tone of his voice eminating what a normal person might sound like when remarking on the weather.

"I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?" John glanced at Molly, who wouldn't meet his gaze while Sherlock gathered his coat and scarf.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock commented, buttoning his coat.

"No, it's not obvious to me," John replied.

"Molly and I are in love, keep up," wrapping his scarf around him, Sherlock took off down the hall and off to another crime scene.

The end.


End file.
